Chapter Fifty-Two: The Anchor Weighs 321 Grams

“We should be grateful that we happened to upgrade the main brain today!” Zhao Shengsheng’s voice came from the cockpit, brimming with relief. “I just checked the upgrade record—the support we’ve received over the past three hours from the mothership ‘Roger Young’ was mainly about fixing and expanding our detection range. It’s gone from three minutes and twenty-one seconds to twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds now.”

“If we hadn’t upgraded the main brain today, we’d still be in the dark. Before long, the reconnaissance drones from the Kong Sang would have swooped in!” Huang Yunshuo shuddered at the thought.

He was immensely thankful for yesterday’s particle strike; without it, he wouldn’t have unlocked the hidden class Frost Hawk, nor earned so many credits in such a short time. Had the Mirror not managed to scrape together 2.6 million credits, they would have been doomed.

The ship felt a slight acceleration as it began to move. Looking down from the observation deck, he saw the asteroid shifting backward and upward—the ship was moving ahead of it.

“Chu Jun and Chen Juanfeng have gone out to set the tow, don’t worry. Keep up your stream!” Yu Shiyin said. With Huang Yunshuo, the seasoned veteran, now at the heart of the Mirror, the ship owed its survival to the credits he’d earned. Only with continuous investments could the Mirror’s recovery progress.

If the mecha could be repaired, even if the Kong Sang sent their top models—the Di Yisi or the Ming Jia Luo—there was still a fighting chance with Chu Jun and Huang Yunshuo’s abilities, provided they played their cards right.

He picked up his photon tablet again. No one was sending meteors now; the chat was flooded with questions.

“What happened to the streamer? Why is there a Kong Sang zero-wave fluctuation?”

“Oh god, aren’t you in a civil fleet?”

“A wild fleet roaming the void? That’s way too risky—being chased by the Kong Sang is certain death.”

“Recently, our Wuluo fleet clashed with the Kong Sang recon army—rumor has it millions died in battle. Heaven help us!”

“Can you show us what’s outside the window?”

…

The barrage was unusually unified, filled only with concern and curiosity—no one asked for a lottery or hurled insults.

Thirty years ago, humanity first clashed with the Kong Sang civilization; within a decade, the front collapsed entirely, triggering the massive homeward evacuation. The Kong Sang became synonymous with negativity, darkness, and dread.

Even those living safely within the civil fleets would occasionally hear of skirmishes, fleet battles with the Kong Sang, news of warships destroyed and soldiers killed.

Thus, to everyone, fleets that managed to survive outside the civil formations, enduring in the wild void, inspired awe. The Kong Sang’s recon forces were so reckless that, regardless of scale, they dared direct attacks on fleets of billions—even if it meant their own destruction. For those living in the wild, their plight was unimaginable.

Discovery almost always meant a fight to the death—or simply, death.

“Stop your squabbling, you idiots. What business is it of yours?” Huang Yunshuo, annoyed, waved his hand. “There’s no immediate danger. Let’s not discuss this—let’s get back to the lottery.”

But the viewers wouldn’t let up, peppering him with questions and gossip, much to his frustration.

“Are you going to join the lottery or not? If not, I’ll just end the stream,” Huang Yunshuo declared. Only then did people stop discussing and start sending Dust.

The Dust effect looked like glowing sand scattered across the ground. While not as grand as the meteor shower, it was still beautiful—countless motes falling elegantly, dazzling but not glaring, lovely without being harsh.

To Huang Yunshuo, it was even more pleasing than the sweeping brilliance of meteors. Most importantly, Dust was semi-transparent and didn’t obscure the stream, allowing him to see both the content and the chat—a definite plus.

“Stop.”
“Stop.”
“Stop.”

Ten viewers were drawn in a row, though he had no idea how much Dust had been sent. Huang Yunshuo set up a poll, listing the ten names from top to bottom, and opened it for everyone.

“These lucky bastards—what if I don’t want to vote for any of them?”

“I feel like quitting the stream and jumping into a game.”

“Vote? Hell no! I’m furious—I sent over a hundred Dust and got nothing, sob sob sob.”

In the end, a viewer named Sword From Heaven received the most votes, and Huang Yunshuo sent him the iron sword.

“You lot, look at your IDs—among the ten, only Sword From Heaven sounds decent, no wonder he got the iron sword and you didn’t,” Huang Yunshuo couldn’t help but mock them before ending the stream.

“Damn, is your name so much better?”

“Get lost, you lousy streamer.”

“This room is cursed, seriously. Hey, when’s the next stream?”

“Leave it to our ace. Three hours from now—just set a special alert, so you’ll get a notification even in-game.”

As the stream ended, Huang Yunshuo let out a long breath.

“This stream lasted fifty-nine minutes—added 239,731 followers, received gifts worth 3,496,421 Galaxy Coins.”

“Whoa.” Song Na, who’d been sneaking peeks, sucked in a breath, staring at Huang Yunshuo in disbelief.

“‘Whoa’ what? Go help out, you lazybones,” Huang Yunshuo said.

“You’re always scolding me! But isn’t Sister Piaoxue just sitting there, too?” Song Na grumbled, annoyed at the blatant double standard—why did he ignore Ye Piaoxue but always pick on her?

Huang Yunshuo rolled his eyes. “She’s on fire control, but it’s useless right now. As for you—the cook—go figure out lunch. Next round, we’ll need to eat.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Bye—no time for handshakes!” Song Na spun and dashed off.

The follower count had reached 295,000. Huang Yunshuo felt almost unreal, especially since today’s gifts had hit a new high.

Aside from the 250,000 credits earned by Morning Dew Frost for opening a dukedom, and thirty yachts, the pure Meteor and Dust gifts amounted to exactly three million Galaxy Coins—three hundred grams of weight. At this point, his streamer weight was up to 321 grams.

“Balance: 3.3 million—plus the hundred thousand just earned, that’s 4.3 million credits.” Huang Yunshuo was satisfied, waiting only for the main brain’s upgrade to finish before starting on the Mirror’s mecha repairs.

He’d wanted to repair the mecha first, but many aboard would have opposed it. The appearance of the Kong Sang reconnaissance drone silenced all dissent—a strange blessing, perhaps.